


get no harm done

by orphan_account



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, if you squint you can see beau trying to be lowkey about her feelings for yasha (and failing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Beau doesn’t actually expect to see it happen. Not right in front of her. Not inbroad daylight, in public, under everyone’s noses.(Or: Nott steals from the elderly, and the party is impressed.)





	get no harm done

**Author's Note:**

> nobody asked for nott the brave stealing canes from the elderly but here we are
> 
> sorry for any typos
> 
> title source: [combat baby - metric](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JfWmAe_-lsw)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beau doesn’t actually expect to see it happen. Not right in front of her. Not in _broad daylight_ , in public, under everyone’s noses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it so happens, Beau chances a glance over her shoulder as they make their way into the next town, eastward bound, to sneak a look at Yasha—“monk business,” she assures Molly when he arches a brow, citing her lack of subtlety, “don’t worry ‘bout it. Okay?”—and sees that Caleb is alone. Lessening her pace, she falls back to the rear of the group, sidling up to Fjord.

“Uh, hey,” Beau starts as conversationally as she can, “where’s Nott?”

Ahead of them, Jester exclaims, making a beeline for the first stall at the bazaar she spies. Molly is close behind her, hands on the hilt of his swords.

Fjord blinks, surprised, and says, “what do you mean?” Craning his neck, he continues, “she’s right—” he stops abruptly in his tracks, and Beau nearly bumps into him. “…here?” His eyes scan the ground, looking for the small, Halfling-sized figure among them. Beau follows suit.

The crowd in this town is thick; folks of all sorts and wandering to and fro, ranging from singles to groups larger than their own; conversations carry over each other, loudly, overlapping to become—seemingly—one wave of sound carrying itself through the morning air.

They, of course, don’t see her.

 _Oh, no_.

“Maybe she’s ahead of Caleb?” Fjord tries, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. Beau swears the feeling stirring in her gut isn’t worry—she just doesn’t want the rumpled warlock to freak out, or something. She scans the ground again, uselessly, hoping Nott will simply materialize out of thin air, as rogues are wont to do, _apparently_ —

“Man,” Beau groans, “I really hope she’s not getting herself into trouble ag—”

“Guys!” Jester says, causing them both to look up as she heads towards them, leaving Mollymauk alone at the stand. It looks like she has some books under her arms. _Illustrated, probably_ , Beau thinks distractedly, wondering if she’ll be able to take a peak at them later if Caleb doesn’t get his grubby hands on them first and hogs them. “Aren’t you going to shop?” She looks between them, expectant. “We—”

“Jester,” Fjord says, trying to keep his voice low, “have you seen Nott?”

The blue Tiefling blinks. “She’s over there, stealing.” Her eyes are clear and bright, a smile tugging at her lips.

Beau’s brain stutters—comes to a screeching halt. Fjord recovers faster than her, of course, as Jester continues on: “you might want to get your hearing checked, Beauregard. She said—back at the last inn—that she was got the,” she pauses, dropping her voice to a stage-whisper, which Beau is certain everyone in town can hear, “ _the itch_.”

Fjord nods. “I see,” he says, his gruff voice evening out, calm washing over him.

Beau’s mouth is open, much like a trout. Jester extends her hand, puts her finger under the monk’s chin, and pushes up, pressing her lips together. “Don’t catch flies,” she advises sagely, “I once saw a man eat a fly who bit him in his stomach.”

Beau, finally gathering her bearings, starts, “then where—”

“There she is!” Jester turns and points past farthest bazaar stall to the northeast. Several paces away, Beau spies the scratches glass of what seems to be a bakery, of sorts, as there are pastries sitting in the window on display with a sign that reads “ _Seasonal Discounts are In!_ ” with a few tables set out under the yawning blue sky. It takes Beau a moment to spot the Goblin, but, sure enough, she does:

Two old human women, dressed in fine clothing of deep blues and greens, with jewels adorning their throats and wrists, are sipping tea, sharing a plate of what Beau thinks might be sweet rolls dusted with powdered sugar—“a favorite of Jester’s,” Fjord will tell her later—with their coats draped over the backs of their chairs. Two elaborately carved canes are propped up against the table, nearest the street and its foot traffic; Beau can’t quite make out the details at this distance, but she suspects the twinkling spots on it are precious gems.

“Of course,” she says out loud, “rocks and sticks, right?”

Behind them, to the left, Nott is creeping closer. Keeping close to the ground, out of sight and out of the way, Nott situates herself behind a nearby crate.

“What are you people—oh, my,” Caleb says, coming up behind them with his arms full of thick, leather-bound volumes. Stopping to stand beside Fjord, he cranes his neck, spying Nott quicker than the rest of them had. Beau glances over her shoulder, seeing Molly and Yasha heading towards them, and looks back just in time:

Nott darts forward. Rolls, keeping low, and, faster than Beau can blink, snatches up _both_ canes. Beau watches, wondering why she’s even remotely surprised as the old women carry on with their business, oblivious to the creature scurrying into the crowd, managing to successfully evade being caught or even noticed.

Appearing at Caleb’s side, Nott straightens up, her face upturned. The brass ring in her nose glints in the sunlight; under the wrappings and the lopsided half of the doll’s mask, Beau can make out her grin.

“I’ve done it again,” she crows as she admires the craftsmanship of the canes and the little jewels studding the length of it— _rubies, sapphires, topaz_ , Beau realizes, wondering how in the world they’ve managed to come so far without getting arrested once more. “Don’t you think, Caleb, that these will go well with my new collection?”

Caleb, ever patient and understanding, looks down at her. “I thought we discussed this,” he says in a low voice, even though he’s trying not to smile—and they can all see it. “If you’re going to do something, you can ask for my help.”

“I know,” Nott says brightly, putting both canes under her arms, she fishes her flask out of her cloak, twisting the cap back and forth, practically bouncing, “but, you know, I saw these—and I just had to have them! And, well—you were busy.”

“You’re getting better at that,” Molly comments from behind.

“I might even start pickpocketing,” Nott says proudly.

“But we agreed you need more practice,” Jester interjects, mock-sternly. “You still can’t steal from me without me noticing. You can’t be a good pickpocket if people know you pickpocketed them.”

“Just don’t get caught,” Yasha reminds them, surprising Beau with how close she managed to get without her noticing.

“Uh,” Beau says, not knowing what else to say, trying to pretend the barbarian hadn’t made her jump, “are you taking stealth lessons from Nott or something? You really ought to warn a girl before sneaking up on her.”

Yasha’s eyes slide over to meet hers; she blinks, seemingly unimpressed, but there’s a glint in her eye that has butterflies brushing their wings up against the lining of Beau’s stomach.

“We should, uh, get going,” Fjord says gently, “before we draw attention to ourselves.” With a dip of his chin, he indicates the canes Nott has under her arms.

“Yes,” Jester agrees, enthused, “let’s find an inn!”

Under the morning sun, in high spirits, they move forward, keeping close together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beau wonders if she can feel Yasha’s eyes on her when they rent their rooms for the night, or if it’s just in her head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
